the speed of sound
by psychedelic aya
Summary: But then, he teaches her how to whistle. – tidus/yuna, after and before 'the end' and 'always'.


**notes **I cannot describe how much I love the fluff and angst that make up the dynamic of Tidus/Yuna. I believe I wrote this with both X and X-2 in mind, which is why I placed it in the X-2 section. Also, yes, the numbers before each section mean something. Enjoy!

/

**the speed of sound**

/

_VI._

She whistles now, when she is in his arms and happy, to remind herself that after the darkness, the world will be bright.

_V._

She sees his back from a distance. His feet are dipped into the sea, and she watches him stand by the shoreline, observing the sunset. The orange horizon plays with his hair, making them shimmer into silverish gold strands. He is perfect, she thinks, and he is hers.

He turns around, and gives her one of his smiles.

"Hey," he says, and it is charming, endearing, _lovely_. She runs to him and its all familiar, they are on an airship's rooftop again, hundreds of feet above land and he's so close and she can practically see through him and she thinks it might be too late but – bam, she collides with him, sending them both backwards, sprawling into the shallow sea.

He coughs water. "Whoa, what gives?" he says between laughs, and it is all she can do to hold on, to make sure he is real.

"Nothing," she says, and doesn't let go. "Just; nothing."

The sun descends behind them, slowly.

The world is quiet, and he holds her, tight.

_IV._

She throws her hand up high. Her staff glints against the sunlight, gold and bronze rays glinting from the tip, yellow lights blending with the light blue sea. The water rises up her feet and carries her; she rises, floats, _flies_.

She does not think when she sends. She does not stagger.

After all, there is still death in Spira, even though Sin is gone.

The song in her head stops, and the pyreflies ascend upward. She hears sighs of gratitude in their wake; it is the final cacophony of endless spirits, calm and content, finally on their way to heaven.

The water recedes. Her staff lowers, the tip losing its shimmer, slowly dipping into the ocean.

She breathes then, and it is over. She prepares to go home. But as she walks back to the shore, a pyrefly stops at her nose, and the light in front of her eyes makes her startle.

Then she hears it.

"When will you stop dancing?"

As she falls back into the water, she thinks she hears a whistle.

_III._

She remembers that day she stood on the port, the sky and the ocean stretched out before her, one a blanket of hope and the other a reminder of what she lost.

The sea wind pushes against her hair, and she remembers his – bright, unusual, shining –

"Stay with me," she tells the air, "until the end."

The ocean murmurs against her call, and the sky whispers.

She breaks the silence, and whistles continuously.

_II._

He comes unexpectedly, gold locks and bronze skin, all movement and speed. He smiles at her, the sun in a storm, bright and warm in the middle of cool waters.

She is drawn to him. It begins as innocent curiosity, the feeling of being refreshed, of having someone who doesn't hesitate to tell her she should be happy. He tells her tales of great cities, of unending lights, of pure unadulterated life.

Someday, she thinks, someday she'll see the world from his eyes.

But she knows she is only fooling herself. Because between Spira and Sin there is no happiness for her – only endless cycles of death, a façade of a calm, and the thought that she is going to die.

She has accepted this long ago. She knows that she must not tie herself to the world, because attachment is a weakness that will hinder her from acquiring the Final Aeon. In a summoner's pilgrimage, there is no looking back.

She tries to distance herself.

But then –

"Not until the end," he says. "Always."

– he teaches her how to whistle.

_I._

Today is the start of her pilgrimage.

Yuna stands on the beach of Besaid. She pauses, and perhaps waits for a sign; but when nothing comes she turns around and walks back, heading towards the temple. Her footsteps are light, a summoner's tread, and they leave marks on the sand. She is in no hurry.

The sun descends behind her, slowly.

She is near the temple doors when something catches her attention. It is faint, but her ears pick up the sound; she turns around, and she thinks, she swears –

That from somewhere far beyond, she could hear herself whistle.

/

_FIN - 022111_

/

**ramblings **Yes, it is chronologically backwards. I hope that added to the effect? That was what I was going for, at least. Critique is appreciated!


End file.
